


Silver

by GrimHeaperr



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Character Study, Chromesthesia, F/M, First Date, First Kiss, Lukanette, No Spoilers, but Silencer said Lukanette rights, no beta we die like men, original background for Luka Couffaine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-16
Updated: 2019-05-16
Packaged: 2020-03-06 06:41:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18845713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GrimHeaperr/pseuds/GrimHeaperr
Summary: A first date and a necklace: Luka only knows how to love in the present tense.





	Silver

**Author's Note:**

> From my summary, this takes place after Captain Hardrock but before Frozer. But who knows? Not I.

Luka ran a comb through his hair for what felt like the eight-hundredth time in the past two hours. He still had thirty minutes before he was early in picking up Marinette, but he needed to impress.  
  
His white Jagged Stone shirt and denim jacket had been replaced with a black short sleeve button-up and a tie that matched his dip-dyed tips. He wore his nicer jeans: a blue dark wash with no rips or holes. He applied eyeliner earlier that made his aqua eyes pop. When he exited the bathroom, his mother and Juleka were on the couch, a bowl of popcorn between them and an old horror movie on their small television set.  
  
“Lookin’ ship-shape, Luka!” His mother laughed, her accent thick and happiness thicker.  
  
Juleka gave her brother a simple nod. “Looks good.”  
  
“It’s not too much, is it?” He asked them. He felt a little silly in nicer clothes. The button-up fit his torso snuggly unlike his Jagged Stone shirt, and he didn’t own a nice pair of shoes. He wore his loud high-tops and hoped he would still leave a good impression on Marinette’s parents.  
  
His mother got up from her spot beside Juleka and fixed his tie. He didn’t notice he tie it wrong or that it was askew. “You look handsome, Luka,” she said, her ‘Captain’ voice replaced with her ‘Mom’ voice. “Have fun tonight, and try not to be out too late.” Her voice transitioned back into its maritime tone.  
  
“I promise I’ll be back before midnight.” His shift at the music store wasn’t until three the next day, and Marinette’s weekend just started but he knew there would probably be a curfew.  
  
Luka kissed his mother and Juleka goodbye. On his way out, Luka grabbed his worn leather wallet, keys, a borrowed leather jacket, and a tiny velvet box from its place atop the kitchen counter. The box was a last minute gift—something he wasn’t sure about giving Marinette, but Luka only knew how to love in its present form. Plus, he thought Marinette would like it; it’s her favorite color.  
  
Luke took the Métro as the sun began to paint the late evening sky in oranges and reds. When he arrived at the patisserie, Mme Cheng was just turning over the sign from OPEN to CLOSE. From the other side of the tinted glass, she smiled and quickly opened the door.  
  
“You’re just in time!” Mme Cheng said as she ushered Luka inside.  
  
He was immediately greeted by the sweet scent of sugary desserts and sweet bread. The displays had been emptied after a busy day, but a few crumbs remained. Small tags gave away what used to be in the small trays: croissants, éclairs, macarons, cakes... As his eyes trailed the displays, he finally spotted M. Dupain, who was busy tidying the baking area behind the register.  
  
“Good evening,” Luka greeted, a confident smile on his lips. He hoped they didn’t look at his shaking hands. He refrained from spinning his ring.  
  
“You must be Luka,” Mme Cheng stuck out her hand. Luka delicately shook it. “I’m Sabine Cheng, Marinette’s mother.”  
  
“It’s nice to meet you, Madame—“  
  
“Sabine,” she corrected with a playful smile on her lips.  
  
“Sabine.” Luka was no stranger to calling adults by their names. His regulars at the store insisted he called them by their first names minus the honorifics, and whenever his father decided to talk to him, Luka only used his father’s name. But that was a different story.  
  
“Hello!” M. Dupain called out. He wiped his hands off on his apron before he took Luka’s hand. ”I’m Tom Dupain, Marinette’s father.” Luka pretended not to be intimated by M. Dupain’s firm handshake. Instead, Luka gave him an easy smile.  
  
“It’s nice to meet you, M. Dupain. I’m Luka Couffaine.” Luka met M. Dupain’s handshakes with a firm grip.  
  
The man smiled. “We have heard a lot about you, Luka. Marinette—“  
  
“Papa,” Marinette’s voice cut in, her normal lavender tone twinged with yellow-green annoyance. Luka breathed out a chuckle. Marinette quickly planted herself between her father and Luka.  
  
“What?” M. Dupain asked innocently.  
  
Sabine giggled behind him. She joined her husband, her small hands wrapping around his thick arm. “We just want to get to know the boy who’s dating our daughter,” Sabine said innocently. She wore a smile, but the predatory gaze of her grey eyes made his palms sweat. He refrained from spinning his ring. His fingers would soon thread with Marinette’s, and that’ll be enough.  
  
“I’m sure we have somewhere to be.” Marinette looked up to Luka with her big bluebell eyes, and although where they were going didn’t have reservations, they did had to get there early to find a good place to sit.  
  
“Yes,” Luka said, keeping an easy smile, “We’re going to a café that plays live music at eight, and I’d like to get a good spot.”  
  
“Live music? Like a rock concert?” M. Dupain glared at Luka. Luka saw M. Dupain’s eyes shift from the dyed tips of his hair to the gauges in his ears. The added leather jacket added to a stereotype Luka didn’t fit in.  
  
“No, no. Just local artists. Although, a few singers tend to lean toward grunge music as the night goes on.”  
  
“How long does this concert go on?”  
  
“Until eleven, but I plan to have Marinette home before ten.”  
  
“Good answer.”  
  
Marinette groaned at the same time Sabine said, “Tom.”  
  
“I’m sure we can let Marinette stay out late just this once,” Sabine reasoned. “You will stay for dinner next time, won’t you?” It was an invitation and a threat.  
  
“If you’ll have me, I would love to.” Luka was no stranger to meeting parents. He dated two other girls before, once when he was 13 and another when he was a few weeks shy of 15. Those relationships were no longer than two months, but they both ended on amicable terms.  
  
“Then we’ll be expecting you, Luka.” M. Dupain stuck out his hand. Luka shook it.  
  
“I’d be honored.” Luka shook Sabine’s hand. After Marinette kissed her parents goodnight and told them she’d text them when she was coming back, the two left the patisserie.  
  
“Sorry about that,” Marinette said. She brushed a stray hair behind her ear. “My parents can be a little much sometimes.”  
  
Luka shook his head. “They’re great. I’d be worried too if a punk took out my daughter.”  
  
Marinette laughed, her lavender voice mixed with a bubbly pink. She nudged Luka’s shoulder, a small smile on her lips. ”You’re not a punk,” she said. “You’re Luka.”  
  
_You’re Luka._  His mind reeled. He was used to what people thought about him. He’s the oldest and only son of Anarka and Gage Couffaine: an eccentric woman and an absent father. A father who left overseas to peruse music when Juleka was three and Luka was five. When Luka picked up his father’s old acoustic, dyed his hair, got his ears pierced, people assumed he’d follow in his father’s footsteps. The difference, however, was that Luka worked to help Juleka pay for the things she wanted. In lieu of attending the local lyceé, Luka found a job at a record store as a clerk and a sound technician for events they hosted. After he paid his family’s phone bill and gave Juleka her allowance, he always had enough money left over to save. To save for evenings like this: the wash of an orange and pink sunset dyeing everything in its calming colors, Marinette stealing glances at him as they descended into the Métro station. Marinette only saw this Luka, the only Luka he’s ever known.  
  
On their way down, Luka grabbed Marinette’s hand.  
  
“Do you think we’ll make it on time?” Marinette stuttered out, her hands wiping her bangs to the side.  
  
“Yeah,” Luka said without much thought. It’s true that he wanted to get a good spot, but any spot is good with Marinette in it. “It’s a pretty niche café, so we should be fine.”  
  
“Should?” Marinette looked up at him, her eyebrows furrowed and a slight frown on her lips.  
  
Luka smiled at her. He poked the furrow between her brow. A deep blushed tinted her soft cheeks. “Yes, should.”  
  
For the first time that night, Luka got a good look at Marinette. Her dark, almost-blue hair fell to her shoulders, washed and wavy. Her normal outfit was replaced with something nicer. Pink nautical-style shorts were high waisted and came down to her mid-thigh. She wore a thin long sleeve turtleneck, the black of the fabric muting her silhouette. Her usual purse ran across her torso. Black stockings hid most of her legs save for the sliver left between the top of the sock and the bottom of her shorts’ seem. Like Luka, she wore her normal shoes, but her flats were already a lot nicer than his splattered high-tops.  
  
“You look beautiful,” he said. Marinette turned a shade of red that would put a strawberry to shame. She stuttered out a response he couldn’t quite understand. Luka chuckled. He brought their joined hands up to kiss the top of Marinette’s hand just as the Métro stopped in front of them.  
  
“Shall we?”  
  
Marinette nodded.  
  
The Métro was only slightly crowded with people going home or going out. Luka offered the one seat he found to Marinette since they wouldn’t get off for another twenty minutes. Luka pulled out his phone and a pair of earbuds, offering one to Marinette. Luka played Jagged Stone’s new album—the one Marinette designed—the whole way there. Luka bobbed his head while Marinette swayed with her body, mouthing the lyrics. Luka thought about young love and what it meant. What his love meant when he saw Marinette for the first time at the houseboat, her stutter, her uneasy heart, and the pick he gave her. But as he watched her, head bobbing and her body moving to the music, they shared a look. She smiled up at him, dazzling and with a funny glint in her blue eyes. His heart beat with a single song ever since she came into his life, the melody always threading through his fingers when he didn’t know what to do with his hands.  
  
Maybe this is what love was. Or at least, the starting stage of it.

 

* * *

 

When they arrived at the café, most of the tables were taken except for a scattered few toward the back and tables wedge in front of the stage. Luka guided Marinette to a table that was right up front, nestled between crowded chairs and people. He pulled out Marinette’s chair for her and helped her settle before he took a seat across from her. A waitress in plainclothes and an apron took their orders and squeezed her way out of the crowd.  
  
“How do you know about this place?” Marinette asked, her voice loud enough to drift over the grey static of voices from the crowd.  
  
“A few of my coworkers brought me here once. The food is great and the music acts are usually good.”  
  
“Usually?”  
  
Luka didn’t hide his smile. “Paris has an assortment of musicians,” he gestured to himself. “And everyone has their own talent.” He jerked his head toward the stage where a man with a headset contraption that held a kazoo in front of his face, an accordion, and a drum on a plank with wheels tied to his ankle.  
  
Marinette looked over and hid her giggle behind her hand. Even with the noise in the café, he could hear the bright pink of her laugh.  
  
The lights dimmed in the café, and a few workers dropped the blinds. A spotlight illuminated the stage in yellow, the hardwood stage gleaming. The first act walked up on stage, introduced himself as Kali, and began his act.  
  
It was humorous and had Marinette in tears. The rest of the café laughed as Kali enjoyed himself. The next act was a singer who sang a gritty ballad, her voice akin to a 90s grunge singer. At the start of the third act, their food came. They ate to the sound of acoustic guitar. Over the course of a duo flute and lute couple, Luka and scooted closer to whisper into Marinette’s ear, comments about the act, who he knew, who he heard of. Marinette’s hand found his, her delicate fingers moving the spinning circle of his ring as the acts played. Just before the final act went on stage, the two left. Luka paid for their meal and drinks.  
  
When they emerged from the small café, Paris was blanketed in a soft blue sky. The city lights kept the streets and walkways illuminated.  
  
“Did you enjoy the show?”  
  
Marinette nodded. “Yes, I never knew a place like that existed in Paris. It’s pretty far from the Seine, isn’t it?”  
  
“Not too far, plus on the right days, I know someone who works there.”  
  
Marinette tilted her head. “Really?”  
  
Luka nodded. One of his coworkers worked at the café a few days out of the week, but Luka knew the orange of surprise in her tone. At home, he mostly hung out with Juleka and her friends, often times opting to play music with them. His coworkers at his job were years older than him, a few in college and others with a family of their own. He normally didn’t get along with people his age, often being mistaken as a “quiet guy” or shy. He wasn’t shy or quiet, he usually didn’t know what to say. He meant what he said to Marinette some days ago: he’s better at talking through music.  
  
His hands itched again. He slid his right hand into Marinette’s left, which caused her to shyly look away.  
  
“Is this okay?” He asked softly. He’s been holding her hand all night, but he wondered if maybe it was too much.  
  
Marinette lightly squeezed his hand. His heart. “Yes,” she said back just as softly.  
  
They walked the streets of Paris, the warm summer night breeze cooling their sweat from the crowded café. They talked about a lot of things: Marinette’s designs, the homework she has yet to finish, her friends, Lila, and how she was learning to make ”the perfect” macrons from her father. Luka listened to every word and asked questions when he could. He loved listening to the lavender of her voice, the pink of her happiness, the blue of her contentment, even the yellow-green of her annoyance. She was an assortment of soft colors wrapped in a brave soul.  
  
Soon, too soon, they somehow made it back in front of Tom & Sabine Boulangerie Patisserie on foot. Luka didn’t want the night to end. He saw the light on in one of the apartment windows.  
  
_There is always tomorrow._  
  
Luka felt Marinette tug on his hand. When he looked down at her, she poked him between his eyebrows, a small smile on her face, mischief in her eyes. Luka chuckled. She held out her phone, a group chat with her parents front in center. The last email read _Have fun!_ and _But not too much!_ When he looked back at the apartment, the light was off.  
  
“Do you mind if we go to the park?” She asked a little hesitantly, her voice tinted in grey uncertainty.  
  
Luka gestured forward. “Lead the way.”  
  
Marinette guided him through the open gates of the park, the streetlamps emitting a dim white glow. They were the only ones in the park as their shoes crunched on the sandy pathways. Luka followed Marinette’s lead in sitting down at the edge of a dry fountain. A few coins shimmered in the pale lamplight and from the peeking moon.  
  
“Is it always a dry fountain?” Luka asked, leaning over and picking up a gold 20¢ Euro.  
  
“It usually fills with rainwater during the winter, but since spring is around the corner, it might be turned on again.”  
  
“Do you think wishes still come true in a dry fountain?” Luka mused as he stared at the coin.  
  
Marinette twirled her fingers in thought. “I don’t know. Why?”  
  
Luka smiled mischievously at her, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Want to find out?”  
  
Marinette flushed. “You can’t make a wish using someone else’s coin!” Luka laughed as Marinette swiped it from his fingers. She held the coin close to her chest as if protecting it. “That’s... that’s illegal!”  
  
Luka stared at her before he laughed, deep and boisterous. “You think so? Here,” he offered his hand, palm flat, “I’ll put it back.” Marinette looked at Luka then at his palm. “I promise.” He held out his pinky finger to prove it. Marinette placed the coin in his palm and Luka leaned back over and placed the coin back in its spot.  
  
“Well?” He nudged her shoulder.  
  
She nudged back. “What?”  
  
Luka pulled out a 1¢ Euro from his pocket—change from the café. “Do you think wishes come true in a dry fountain?” He gave the coin to Marinette, whose eyebrows furrowed in thought as she stared at the copper coin.  
  
Marinette closed her hand around the coin, bringing it to her chest and clasping it tightly. Eyes closed and head down, Luka watched her for a small, quiet moment as she wished. He watched as her eyes fluttered beneath her eyelids, the way the wind moved her hair and carried the sweet scent of the patisserie over her. He quietly retrieved the box from his jacket pocket as she wished. When she was done, determined blue eyes met questioning aqua ones for a brief second before she tossed the coin into the dry fountain. It clattered in, skidding across the rest of the coins before rolling to a stop somewhere toward the middle.  
  
Before Luka could speak, Marinette spoke first. “You can’t ask what I wished for. If I tell you, it wouldn’t come true.”  
  
Luka ruffled her hair. She giggled and playfully swatted his hand away. “I wasn’t going to ask.” Marinette cocked an eyebrow at him. “Well. Maybe, but mostly,” Luka presented the box to her, the velvet a little dirtied and flattened from the coat pocket. “I wanted to give you this.”  
  
The box itself wasn’t small enough to be a ring. It was rectangular and flat, something that Luka had spotted at a market with his mother the last time they met with other barge folks. Inside was a silver necklace with a heart pendant. A single pink crystal was inlaid in the heart’s left side. The man who sold it to him, an old fisherman who called Luka “Gage” in a gritty red voice, told him it was real silver with an engineered crystal. Luka had to trade promises to the old man to get it, but even if Luka hated being aboard a ship with an estrange fisher, the necklace was worth the trade, especially if Marinette liked it.  
  
“Luka—“  
  
“Trust me.”  
  
Marinette looked at the box, then to Luka, then to the box again, unsure. Tentatively, she took the box from Luka. He fought to not sag in relief. He watched as Marinette opened the box, the necklace dull in the lowlight of the park. She tilted the box sideways, catching the moonlight from behind the clouds. The necklace shined in the pale white light, the pink crystal of the heart glittering like dew on a freshly fallen petal. Marinette placed the box in her lap and delicately lifted the necklace out. She left the chain fall as she held the pendant, eyes glassy.  
  
“Luka, I, I don’t,” she started, her voice a mix of grey and orange.  
  
Luka took her free hand and pressed a chaste kiss to her trembling fingers. “Accepting this doesn’t mean what you might think,” he said, his voice just above a whisper. “I saw it and thought of you. Think of it as a gift from a friend.” Luka wasn’t expecting Marinette to return his feelings; there was Adrien, after all, her classmate and crush. He knew that he wasn't Marinette's number one, but he hoped he had a place in her heart. If anything, he hoped she would accept him and his friendship, and how he loves: openly, and in the present tense.  
  
Luka gently let go of Marinette’s hand.  
  
She cleared her throat. “Can you help me?” Her voice tinged with dark blue and faint streaks of pink on her normal lavender soundwave. Luka didn’t need to hear her voice to see the shimmer of tears in her eyes, but the pink denoted she was happy, at least.  
  
Luka took the necklace as Marinette turned around. She moved her hair away from her neck to let Luka clasp the necklace around her. The silver was stark against the black of her turtleneck. When he was done, he pulled away, giving her distance.  
  
With her back to him, she said, “It’s beautiful.”  
  
“It reminded me of you.”  
  
Luka grabbed the empty box and snapped it shut. He stood up and offered a hand. Marinette took it and let Luka guide her across the deserted Paris street. He handed the box back to her.  
  
“Thank you for coming out with me tonight, Marinette.” Luka leaned down and kissed the top of her forehead.  
  
Marinette brought her hand to where he kissed, eyes not looking at him but at their reflection in the dark windows of the patisserie. She could see Luka’s soft expression, the casual stance of his posture. She finally looked up to him and quickly pecked his lips in a surge of confidence.  
  
“Thank you!” She squeaked out before disappearing around the corner of the bakery. Luka heard a thud, a jingle of keys, and then a slamming door.  
  
He stood alone in front of the bakery for a minute. Two. Three. Four. His fingers ghosted over his mouth, lips tingling with the rush of what just happened. He looked up to Marinette’s window, a soft white light glowing somewhere inside her room. Luka shook his head with a smile on his features before he walked back to his home, his heart fluttering.

**Author's Note:**

> Writing a cool character is hard when 1) I'm not cool and 2) I've never known anyone as cool as Luka Couffaine. 
> 
> [The necklace.](https://i.ebayimg.com/images/g/DpoAAOSwZbVcEik4/s-l300.jpg)


End file.
